This is For Keeps
by Drowl
Summary: "He had forgotten what it felt like to not tense into action when such circumstances came stumbling into him. No matter how literal it could be."


I own nothing. Christopher Nolan owns everything.

Also I apologize if my grammar is horrid. I don't exactly have a beta-er.

There are days where the only thing he sees are what he's done and what he's seen. He wasn't born into being a thief and it seemed like even the few people walking past him with bright flushed faces, reeking of the scent of _simply living _without much borders knew that as well. Some gave him wide births when walking when others simply stumbled into his prescence, smiling and giving no care what-so-ever.

He had forgotten what it felt like to not tense into action when such circumstances came stumbling into him. No matter how literal it could be.

Arthur was as much of a ghost as he is outside of the business. Under his belt ranged an array of jobs - far too many to count - a Pointman he was, the best in business. The price on his head often vanished after a job well done; but he also vanished as if he hadn't existed at all.

The job that took him out of France into the outskirts of Africa had him on his toes, it wasn't like the Pointman was afraid of failure - in fact he knew this job would be far too easy.

After all, he had succesfully done Inception. Not alone, but he knew that he was a strong faucet to what _was _impossible.

His heart seemed to sing into a slow lull as he recognized the familiar path he took. Arthur had known many in his time in the business, had seen a myriad of faces that he often found beautiful. Women with names he barely remembers, since he would often be too far gone with whatever whiskey he had his hands on to even understand anything but the pleasure he took from them.

It was different now.

Arthur in fact, had never truly understood what _home sick _could be till a few days ago. The ever so intelligent and concise man had his arse handed to him after a dramatic call from a tiny woman, hazel eyes and bright scarves and all. He had been on the run, passing through the gutters of nameless streets, eyes hidden and a hitch to his arm where a bullet grazed him after encountering a tail he hadn't noticed. It was _her_, he mused and his world seemed to halt. She and him shared a connection and it was impossibly confusing, a bit preposterous if Arthur hadn't had fallen in love with her.

"Bordeux. 915. But you already probably know that..." Despite his aching arm or his sweat-drenched shirt, Arthur smiled. He had been home away from home. Not in the sense that he missed his flat own loft in the streets of Paris; it was the fact that - no matter how cliche the situation may be - he knew that Ariadne has bathed in his shower, spilled a number of concossion on his kitchen floor and had writhed and moaned into his bed sheets.

With him of course, but that was beyond the point.

"You want me home," it was a statement. Arthur's fluttering heart didn't help the raging heat that was his hide out. It seemed like the more he spoke, the higher the temperature rose.

"When do I ever not want you with me?" Came a soft reply. A tone he knew only _he _heard. Something she uses when she murmurs to his ear while he pretends to sleep.

His heart yearned and ached.

"Soon." Her soft sigh followed.

"Your designs had been the greatest aspect we had in this project. The extractor was a typical over-lord. He came in with barely anything under his belt." Arthur rambled while he swiped a palm over his forehead. Catching the falling sweat over his eyelash.

"I miss you." Arthur deadpanned.

It was like him to ramble first. He hadn't really been the type to know that he had been in _love._ He's had relationships, his few shares of _women _but never the kind that ran rampant in both his dreams and his reality.

"I wanted to hear that," her soft voice sang through the line, washing him with the ghost of her scent. His eyes closed briefly, breathing coming into a soft rasp as an image of her naked skin marged unto his eyelids. Carefully, he dully registered his options of coming home as soon as possible. Being wrapped around her was one thing, but when he came home - it was the way her eyes lighted up that made him want to leave all the less, just to see his woman jut up in attention, whether to kiss him or slap his bloody self.

"You love to hear it." He replied, eyes shining with mirth.

"I love _you._" A strong sense of pride swelled in his chest. It was these words even Ariadne knew that compelled him, that had him twisting upon her finger; dark eyes ablaze and hands grasping every spot on her skin. She knew that what they had could become like an inferno of nothing but them, so much that he seemed to crawl into her skin.

"As do I," he replied softly, blood raging through his body like he knew it _just would_. "I'll do my best to come home soon."

x x x

Friday. Arthur had taken the flight on a Wednesday, flying from one country to the next. His names and appearance changed; his seat chaned from class to class. This was second nature to him. It was like walking into a cafe in the morning to get a cup of whatever caffeine the body craved. When he left Kenya, he had been Rugwald Doister. Wen he took a stop in Boston, he was Kenneth that he had stepped into the cold air of Paris, he was back to Arthur.

He strolled past the familiar streets, his heart seeming to burst through his ribs.

He found himself staring at his rigid form from the elevator's reflection. Flashes of the Fisher job briefly distracted his maniacal range of emotion at the given moment, giving him a sense of peace before he walked into the plush carpet, heading to the only door in the entire floor.

Arthur needn't knock, he simply spared the key from his bag, all the while removing the gun from his suit pocket. He could never be too careful.

As his figure entered the foyer, the strong scent of _Ariadne_ was everywhere. It was why he clutched the dice into his palm, allowing the edges of the die to bend into his skin.

This was his _reality. _He would give up what he did for this.

It was pure-creation, he once mused. He was much younger then. Much less careful.

But what they have now is _pure creation _as well. He is much older now and he wasn't all the less careful. But he knew that if he were to never come home in the future would losing this be all worth it?

He had toed off his shoes in the foyer, along with his bag. Strolling through the kitchen, he took note of the scent of clafouti, something Ariadne makes when she knew he would be there to eat it. As he came closer to their bed room, he could her the unmistakable crooning of soft music, _his _music for only Ariadne knew of the fact that he had once been a musician in the past, albeit when he was a mere sixteen year old, but she knew how well he sang and played. He had only ever really played for her after he left that life.

He entered their room and his thoughts halted into a complete stop. Gravity seemed to shift, even as he stood still - stone faced and heart raging into a stacato of hums.

Ariadne's sleeping figure, clad in what he believed to be his dress shirt - she only ever really slept in his clothes - had been an image, sure enough to have him embracing reality. Though as he approached her, he couldn't help but to toss his die into his desk, watching it roll into a six. He knew it was reality, only she could ever really muster that unhealthy ramming of his heart.

For a moment, Arthur had fallen into a lull of peace. He was content enough to know that her hair had grown longer, her cheeks much more fuller. He could see the pink tips of her nipples from his shirt and it sent another spiral of desire coursing through his already vibrating form. He found it simply _endearing _to have her lips pucker like so when she slept and he imagined that dreams made her eyes roll languidly beneath her closed lids. But he knew she had began to stop dreaming already. Arthur discarded whatever pretense he had and leaned down to lay a soft kiss on her forehead.

A shudder and he felt the rousing woman in his arms shake awake. His lips quirked into amusement as her right hand propped up, a fist missing his jugular with her ready movements. He knew her tricks for _he taught them to her _and she was simply defending herself. Arthur also knew that the Sauer P290, propped into the nightstand facing her side of the bed would have been grasped firmly into her hand, pointed at his forehead, if she hadn't opened her eyes to see his nose pressing upon hers; centimeters away from her lips.

Silence passed between the two before her hands shook and she pressed herself up to him.

Fifth time she had done this, and he would never truly grow tired of feeling her form curl up into his chest, all pretense of defense and violence gone; she warmed him up in ways the scorching nights of hiding in the streets in Africa never had. He felt far too cold there, far too _him _before he discovered the warmth that was her.

"I'm home," he murmured against her lips, his hands curling around her small waist. Her hands danced from his brow to his nose, a finger passing a small scar above his brow that had his breath faltering into a stutter. But it was her kiss against the newly acquinted stitch on his cheek that had him rising into attention.

He tumbled into the sheets with her, his breath coming in grunts as his palm mapped out the curves of her waist. His lips danced wrecklessly, from her lids, to her arms and to the supple of her breasts, all the whilst her soft mewls allowing the blanket of _peace _flame his raging passion. Arthur liked specificity through and through, uncertainty never dwelled with him; and his touches reflected upon that. He knew what Ariadne loved and he knew how to have her tumble through the sheets, hands clutching her hair and her screams echoing like a drum in his ears. _This is his home _and Arthur knew so. Her small hands danced through his back, pass the scars that defined his young self-traipising around the globe with only Mallory and Cobb in his dust.

Ariadne's hazel eyes locked into his as he kissed on her naked stomach. She kept his gaze as he lowered his lips even further to the space between her legs. He did so till he had her legs locking on his head as she trashed against his mouth. With his tounge swinging wildly into her wetness and fingers buried into her, Arthur revelled on her escalating movements. By the time he had his fingers pounding into her folds, her tiny fingers grasped his scalp tightly and surely, Ariadne's sweet scream filled the room.

He sheathed himself into her, eyes blazing and heart pounding. He had memorized the look of her, flushed and heaving on his matress. Sometimes she did so delicately when he moved in her softly, but at times she trashed, eyes shut tightly as he pummeled into her tiny body.

Arthur didn't knew if this would count as any of the others, for all he knew was how his own body seemed to sing into rejoice as she opened her eyes to gaze back into his. Together they moved, sliding across the sheet. Pillows had been discared unto the floor and the sheet that was once wrapped around her sweet body was disposed to the ground. He didn't mind for he is _with _her and he is into whatever kind of world they entered together when they were connected like this. The meaningless fucks Arthur had experienced in the past was absolutely _nothing _to what he has now and what he will have for a long time.

Ariadne was a ladybrinth on her own, Arthur had once professed. She was a maze that had been difficult to solve, but he enjoyed trying to because he knew there was something there. Ariadne didn't lead him with a string into where he thought he should be which he thought would be outside of the maze that was his life. But she had stood her ground, gazed into whoever he was and made him **live**.

Ariadne's soft moans in his ears turned into rampant yelps, her nails dug to his back as he gained speed. He slammed repeatedly into her, walls closing on him till he had felt control slipping past him. He kept his forehead melded unto hers, watching her hazel eyes smolder into a darker shade. She kept her eyes forced open, despite the pounding he was so intently focused on doing to her body. Arthur's own chest tighted as her eyes fluttered close. Her body writhed violently, tensing as he pistoned his cock deeper into her. Arthur was aware that he was grunting loudly unto her neck and that she was up against the headboard now, his pushing bringing her into newer heights even in the sheets they were on. It was then that she tigthened around him and her screams echoed in his ears once more.

Arthur cursed violently, his hands grasping her waist for leverage before he began to thrust wildly, once, twice - Ariadne had came again, her yelps wild in his ear spurring him on - three, four - he registered that both his thumb and hers were wildly pressing unto her clit - five, six - he only did then notice how the bed groaned at his movements and how, with every violent thrust, he felt the headboard tremor against the wall - seven and eight. His grunt was harder than before, his cock burying into her, _deep, deep, deep, _his mind raced, spilling himself inside her.

Arthur opens his eyes and it is hers he sees.

"Welcome home," Ariadne pulls him close, both of them sliding into each other; limbs tangled and forehead mussed with a faint glow of their own sweat.

"I love you," Arthur stares into her eyes as he says so. Ariadne, at any given moment would have replied, a snark he almost anticipated whenever he proposed his love for her.

But this time around, she stayed mute as her eyes pierced into a small thing on her fingers.

"...Arthur?" came her soft reply. He folded his hands over hers, his smile morphing him into the Arthur that he knew and she knew was truly _who he is._

_"_I figured a simple band would fit you well. You don't like jewelry but for this reason...it would be an exception wouldn't it?" he said so softly, raveling in the softness of the euiphoric blanket she had laid upon the both of them. After years of being together, four to be exact, he knew even then that she would be the woman to garner whatever he had left of what he thought he was, back to who he _is. _She didn't replace the pieces, no. Ariadne had helped him find it, she had held his hand and made him understand that despite whatever circumstance he had as he traveled through the labyrinth of his own life, he is who _he knew he is. _That the many names he had, the many men and women he had taken off from existence had only been a faucet of his job. Even she couldn't remove that from him.

It was his acceptance to the life he chose for himself that made him move forward. It was what made him love so much that he felt that he would burst from it.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I'll marry you."


End file.
